


Future History

by soupytwist



Category: Isaac Asimov - Robot stories
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupytwist/pseuds/soupytwist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least they hadn't had to deal with <i>this</i>. (Powell/Donovan futurefic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabbit/gifts).



> All the love in the world goes to the lovely beta team of Dafna, Luna, Mrsronweasley, and Brooklinegirl. Extra love goes to Anna, for listening to me flail when I got hit with the canonstick. Talking of: this fic does require handwaving of one line of canon, I'm afraid, but hopefully it's so slight that only I will mind!

Retirement, everyone had said, would be great. A vacation, a _break_. In this they had been - and here Mike Donovan found his jaw involuntarily clenching - _wrong_. Very, very wrong.

They hadn't factored in house-hunting, for a start. This wasn't something either Mike or Greg had faced for years, practically since college. One of the best parts of the job, in fact, had been that all that sort of crap was dealt with _for_ you as part of the package. Sure, he'd done his share of complaining about the accommodations now and then - who hadn't? - but the truth was, the United States Robots &amp; Mechanical Men Corporation did her employees proud, because at least they hadn't had to put up with _this_.

The real estate agent paused in her description of how convenient the landing was - for _jumping off_ or something, presumably, thought Mike darkly - and visibly tried not to sigh.

"Shall we move on to the next place I found for you, then?" she asked, in a voice which clearly stated that there was not enough money in the world to compensate for landing a couple of cranky ex-spacers for clients.

Mike looked over at Greg. Greg, as usual, looked calm and serene: the scar that now curled from his left eyebrow to just above his jawline even managed to make him look kind of stately and dignified, the bastard. Only the way his eyebrows were slightly drawn together showed that he was enjoying this just as much as Mike was. In Mike's experience, this meant the real estate agent was going to go back and tell everyone what a saint that nice Mr Powell was for putting up with him.

He gave in to the urge to make a face. "I hope you have a clue what you're doing, I really do, because much more of this and I'm not going to be responsible for my actions."

"Next one it is, then," said Greg.

***

It wasn't the next one they saw, or the one after that, or even the one after _that_, but the place they eventually found turned out to be surprisingly okay.

The thing was, New York hadn't exactly been top of Mike's places to live. Visiting had been fine, and he wasn't immune to wistfully reminiscing about the place after too long away from anywhere selling fresh fruit and vegetables, but Mike had, over the years, come to accept that mostly, there were good reasons why he'd chosen his career. He'd also come to accept that these included the fact that after more than a week or two back on Earth, all those _people_ kind of skeeved him out. He was glad they _existed_, sure - he just wished they existed further away. Not right on his doorstep, for instance. Of course they had to live near Greg's ex and the kid, and United States Robots headquarters, and all the research and publishing places that were, Greg said, going to get them through old age. Having those things surrounded by several million other people, on the other hand, was going to be a pain in the ass.

Greg's demand that he really had to see this one - "Of course I'm not _kidding_. After all this searching? My jokes aren't nearly that bad." - hadn't convinced him otherwise, either. But when they got there, what he found was a quiet street, in an out of the way neighborhood, and a decent sized top-floor apartment with a perfect view of the 'ships from the spaceport, blasting off into the winter sky.

***

They were two weeks in and just about done unpacking all their stuff out of twenty years' worth of storage crates when they got a message from the kid. Wanting to visit.

Louise turned out to have mysteriously stopped being the scraggly eight year old with pigtails and braces that Mike remembered. Instead, he opened the door to a very serious looking fifteen year old with dark bangs almost covering her eyes, who shook his hand solemnly before turning to Greg and calling him "dad". Mike, as agreed previously, went off to do some of the things that always seemed to need doing here on Earth, like buying groceries, and left them to it.

When he got back, she was still there, but it seemed okay. She followed him into the small kitchen while Greg went off to give himself a motivational 'you too can manage not to destroy your child's life!' speech in the bathroom mirror or something. "Do you want help unpacking those?" she asked.

"Er, sure," said Mike. "That bag there?" He pointed to the one with the items he'd been going to leave for Greg, of things that belonged either high up or low down. He almost went on to explain that his bad knee made too high up or too low down more difficult than it had been, then realized what he was about to say and laughed instead. "Thanks."

She shot him a very Greg look. It was disturbingly reminiscent of the look Greg had given him the time Mike had grown a mustache, just to prove that Greg's was terrible. "It's not actually a problem. I can be nice to old people."

He quirked an eyebrow back at her. "That's good to know. I'll remember that when I get there."

She gave him a proper smile then, and Mike felt that for a guy who didn't even like kids, he'd just done pretty well. He'd even managed not to spend five minutes explaining that being in your late forties was _not_ the same as being in your late eighties.

She moved forward to put some carrots in the refrigerator. "Do you actually like these?"

"After eating the nasty versions you get in space? You bet," said Mike, not even thinking. The food was _obviously_ one of the best things about humanity's home planet. But the pause that followed was just a little too long, and when he turned round to check, Louise looked pensive.

"Is it..." She trailed off. "I mean, did you and my dad like it out there? What was it like? Was it as great as it sounds?"

Mike thought of Greg's hands that never quite stopped shaking, the scar on his face, and thought he had an idea what she was actually asking about. "It wasn't _fun_ all the time," he said slowly, "but... yeah. It's that great, and more."

He found he was smiling, and if it was maybe a bit strained at the edges, well, at least Louise smiled back.

By the time Greg walked in and wondered what in the galaxy was going on, they were on to the embarrassing stories and actually having fun. Mike always liked telling the one about the time Greg had managed to accidentally breathe in a load of helium some idiot had left lying around not properly sealed, and had had to deliver his safety briefing while sounding like some kind of demented kid's toy. It was especially nice to tell it to someone who hadn't already heard it several times before.

This was, as he said to Greg ruefully once Louise had left, probably a sign that the appearance of wrinkles hadn't been some kind of joke. But somehow that didn't seem to matter all that much.

 

***

They fell into a pattern as easily as they always had. If it was Tuesday, then one of them delivered a lecture for the Robotics and Engineering faculty at the university. If it was Thursday, they went for a walk in the nearby park. Fridays, Louise came over for dinner. Sometimes, usually if there was something she wanted to do on their side of the city, she stayed the weekend. Sunday afternoons, they went and sat in the local bar for a while.

The identical envelopes bearing the insignia of United States Robots arrived on a Saturday. Mike threw them out as soon as he'd read the contents. Luckily, Greg wasn't there: he was out with Louise at some exhibit or other, because Louise had recently implied that she thought she might like to be a roboticist someday. Of the four messages left by some secretary probably half their age, Mike got to the first "and if you'd be interested in returning to assist us with these experimental models" and pressed 'delete' on them all without listening. His being _interested_ wasn't the issue, after all.

***

Despite what Greg said, he told even more ridiculous stories than Mike did. This was apparently supposed to make acclimatizing to life on Earth easier, or something. In reality, they mostly ended up swapping stories with the few other ex-spacers in the bar. Then they generally went home and watched some ridiculous holovid to make fun of the science.

(A truly incredible number of them, it rapidly became apparent, felt the need to include evil robots.

"It does explain a lot about where all the phobia comes from," muttered Greg, after the fifteenth Robot Gone Mad storyline in a row. "_I'd_ be terrified of them if I thought they were all written that badly."

"And they never even met Cutie," replied Mike.

Greg laughed. "Now _that_ is a real shame. They'd deserve each other.")

It wasn't bad at all, Mike told himself firmly. If it was still rather strange to see more of the galaxy on the screen than they did in reality, there were definite bonuses. They got a reasonable amount of sleep, for one thing, and nothing in their vicinity had blown up in _months_. This was practically unprecedented. Given that things exploding had been what had finally gotten them retired in the first place, there was really a lot to be said for that. And Greg seemed happy, at least.

***

 

He found the next set of identical envelopes in the back of one of the kitchen drawers one Thursday a few weeks later.

The eastern part of the park was more or less empty on Thursday mornings, which was why they always took their walk then. All the parents taking their kids to play were in the playground on the other side, and nobody else much seemed to venture forth between nine a.m. and noon, which made it an excellent place for yelling.

"Mike, for the love of-"

"You couldn't have just said something?!" Mike glared, and dragged his hand through his rapidly greying hair. Which was clearly also Greg's fault, because Greg was _insane_.

Greg glared right back. "Because you having a _hissyfit_ was going to help."

"I _wouldn't_ have. I am a bastion of calmness!" Mike paced around the nearest tree, then kicked it for good measure. He couldn't do much damage that way these days, but it made him feel a bit better.

"It's a _job offer_." Greg looked irritatingly like he wanted to laugh. "That's not so bad."

"Not unless you actually try to take them up on it and go and get yourself _killed_," muttered Mike.

"Wait, _that_ was why you-" Greg paused and sighed in the way he reserved for times when Mike was being an idiot. "Should have guessed. Anyway, if you stopped for a half a second, you headcase, you'd realise I _was_ going to discuss it, unlike some people." He waved some papers under Mike's nose. "Just have a look."

Mike skimmed them just enough to gather that this particular offer would only require minimal off-world testing, would be based in New York, involved helping develop a new plan for truly human-form robots, and would pay them a _ridiculous_ amount of money. "Greg-"

"_See?_ No getting _either_ of us killed!"

Greg's ridiculously smug I-told-you-so expression hadn't changed a bit since they met, and Mike still found it distracting on too many levels to count. He waved a hand to indicate that he was trying to read the letter over again and Greg should quit it. But the more he read the more he started wondering what their solution would be to the Jones-Baxter problem and what the look on Greg's face might be like at walking into a test lab again and the more possible it seemed that maybe, _maybe_-

Finally, he looked up. "This... Greg, you know we'd have to commit to five years here. And we'd probably have to sign the off-world testing to someone else."

"I know." Greg paused, then grinned. "But don't you want to find out about those humaniform robots?"

Mike thought it over. He listened for a second to the shouts of the people, just beginning to come into the park for the afternoon, and the hum of the rockets as they went overhead. He looked back over at Greg. He was probably suffering some kind of psychosis but, well. He grinned. "Actually, I really do."


End file.
